


Ceremonials

by whokilledcodyosmond



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Demon Stiles, Demonic Possession, Possession, Ritual Sex, Rough Sex, Sort of Non-Con? Sorta?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-20
Updated: 2013-06-20
Packaged: 2017-12-15 13:08:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/849911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whokilledcodyosmond/pseuds/whokilledcodyosmond
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the dead of night, Stiles is hunting a rogue pack with Derek and the others in a forest.</p><p>Something else finds him instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ceremonials

The first time he sees it, it is a brief glimpse- a shade of an image, nothing more. It's not quite a shadow but it's the closest he can possibly describe the vague silhouette. Just as quickly as it appeared, the sight vanishes with a blink. He thinks little of it, after all, they have been in the forest for two days now. The tall trees all look the same, somehow claustrophobic even in the open air of the night. The wolves are not bothered by it, too caught up in the hunt. He trudges behind them wearily, a gun borrowed from the Argents hanging loosely from his hand.

Derek motions for them to stop, his head tilted slightly to the side as he sniffs at the wind for any hint of the creatures they pursue through the darkness. The rest of the pack keep alert, surveying each direction warily for any possible threat. They hunt in a forest far from their usual surroundings and none of them is familiar with the area.

"They've been here."

The rogue pack had been encroaching on their (Hale) territory for weeks now, only lately daring to show themselves in the form of murder. Strangers, humans none of the pack knew, but it was a challenge more than an act of wanton malice. A challenge their Alpha couldn't afford to ignore, so tenuous was his grip on his newly minted pack.

"Great, can we all go home now? The weekend's officially over in," Stiles checks his watch. "Oh, only two freaking hours. Plenty of time to party before Monday rolls around, right? Guys?"

Derek looks back at him and frowns but has no smart comeback to throw at him for once, instead silently motioning for Isaac and Scott to fan out as they look for a more solid trail in the cold brown leaves.

They don't find anything that night.

Days later Derek will speculate that perhaps something had found them instead.

**************************************************

The second time he sees it is Tuesday morning at Beacon Hills High. Stiles is sitting next to Scott in the chemistry class they share. Mr. Harris, back to the class, is scrawling formulas on the chalk board that both of them are copying down at a feverish pace. Stiles wishes he had Lydia's genius to help breeze through the tedium. He reflects that while his unrequited crush has a well-hidden brilliance, he is merely clever.

Cleverness has helped him in life and death situations involving his supernatural friends, but it is doing nothing for deciphering the chemistry that might as well have been hieroglyphics. His concentration is faltering with each passing second and he's about to tell Scott to quit the mumbling equations his friend spoke under his breath when Stiles' hand stops mid-scrawl.

He stares dumbly at his own fingers, still wrapped tightly around his pencil. He frowns, a headache beginning to take root and bloom in the back of his skull. He tries to keep going, to write down the next number but the muscles and nerves simply refuse to respond to the signals his brain sends down. He tries to remain calm, to breathe in until his body realizes what he wants it to do but the scratching sounds of pens and pencils on paper is suddenly painful in his ears. It becomes a din of white noise and dimly he imagines this is what Scott went through when he first received the bite.

Just when he's about to whimper Scott's name, his head turns of its own volition towards the classroom windows. Outside, dark clouds are rolling in with the promise of a violent rain. His eyes are wide, staring to the sky when the center most mass of cloud starts to form a face. He wants to say he's imagining it, that it's the supernatural occurrences in his life finally taking their toll in the form of stress. Stiles would happily accept even the explanation of a mental break but somehow he knows with a terrifying certainty that it's not his imagination running rampant. He knows by the way his guts churn that he's looking out into the storm and something is looking back at him.

"Dude. Dude!"

Scott's whisper breaks the paralysis, though a cold sweat covers Stiles' skin in a clammy sheen. He looks at his friend as if realizing his presence for the first time and whirls back around to face the window. Nothing forms among the storm clouds. Rain begins to fall, fat and loud against the windows.

"What are you doing?" Scott questions in a hiss, giving him a strange look.

Stiles looks down to his chemistry notes, his mouth dry and full of a bad taste- something sour and stale. The numbers and letters cease halfway down the page, instead twisting into dark lines where he had apparently pressed the pencil lead down as hard as he could, tearing the paper in some places. What follows is no language either boy know, strange symbols laid out in patterns that can only be some form of writing.

He rises out his seat, breathing heavily as the room starts to spin. Harris tells him that if he doesn't want another detention, there's twenty minutes left of class and that he'd better sit down for that remainder. Stiles doesn't hear him. He grabs the desk for support, knocking his binder to the floor as he staggers towards the door.

Lydia, who is sitting on Stiles' other side, picks it up and eyes the papers with pursed lips and a questioning look at Scott who shrugs, bewildered and concerned for his friend.

Stiles vomits in the bathroom down the hall.

His dad picks him up from school half an hour later. He's too dizzy to make it to the police cruiser himself so Scott walks him to the Sheriff, all but holding his friend upright. Crowds of other students look at them as they pass by.

"Feel better, man." Scott tries for a casual concern but his furrowed brows give away how worried he is by the sudden onset of sickness. 

"Come on, buddy," John opens the passenger door for him. "Let's get you home."

He mutters something nonsensical to both of them, collapsing into the seat and letting Scott close the door after him. Stiles' skin crawls with every sensation- the seat belt is too tight, the back of his seat too hard, even the air itself uncomfortable on him. He feels the back of a hand pressed gently to his forehead and squirms under the touch.

"You do have a bit of a fever. If it's not down by tomorrow we're going to see Melissa, okay?"

He doesn't reply, sleep falling quickly over him despite his discomfort.

**************************************************

"What's wrong with you?"

Stiles cracks open a sleep-crusted eye, trying to focus on the figure perched on his window sill even though he knows who it is by the gruff voice. He tries to sit up in his bed for a moment but quickly gives up; even the aborted movement sends waves of fatigue rolling through him.

"Must've been something I ate. Nice of you to come see me though, Sourwolf."

Derek snorts and the sound brings a tired smirk to his lips. He tries to find the wolf but there's not enough light coming in from the window. The night offers little illumination to him. He looks forward to the banter they always share, the witty back and forth that effectively keep a barrier between them. They're not quite friends although if Stiles is honest with himself he'd like to be more than that. Simple fear has always kept that fact a secret. He is always careful to distract himself, to keep his heart beating regularly. He thinks of babies, dead things, dead babies when his thoughts run towards the gutters, afraid of the wolf smelling his arousal as Stiles knows he would.

"Are you sure you're alright?"

A pressure rests near his feet and he realizes with dull shock that Derek is sitting on his bed. The wolf always stays near the window, as if he may flee the room at any moment (and sometimes he does). This is a new development, one that sets Stiles' tired body on edge. His heart thumps loudly in his chest despite his wishes otherwise and he knows the wolf hears it.

"Any news on that pack of assholes? Did they finally realize we're way too awesome to mess with?" He nervously tries to deflect with a change in subject. "I bet-"

"Shut the fuck up, Stiles."

He laughs, a reedy high sound that must pair well with the reeking stink of fear he's sure he's giving off at the sudden change in atmosphere. The wolf's voice is pure ice, like being suddenly submerged in a cold bath. Stiles has never heard Derek use the particular tone with anyone, let alone himself. He can feel himself shaking beneath the sheets, trying to comprehend the exchange. "Rude! So rude, man. I-" The air is pushed out of him in a rush, a heavy weight across his body as Derek is suddenly on top of him, trapping him beneath the blankets in a cocoon.

"You never," the wolf growls, an impossibly long-feeling tongue swiping a wet path across his throat, hot breath against his skin. "Shut the," sharp teeth graze his jaw. "Fuck up." Both of them give out a low groan at the friction Derek creates as he grinds against Stiles' trapped and growing erection. The Alpha hisses out his words in a rhythm as he ruts against the boy. "What a useless ...piece ...of meat."

"Derek, wha-"

The wolf snaps his teeth in front of Stiles' face and the boy goes quiet immediately, terrified and aroused in equal measure. "You're a little fucking slut, aren't you? Aren't you?" He grabs Stiles by the throat, shaking the boy viciously. "You just want a cock to fill you up, right? You pathetic fucking loser. Well," Stiles can now feel a substantial length pressed up against his thigh and he shudders, fighting for breath under the punishing grip. "That's exactly what you're going to get."

Stiles wakes up then, feeling a sticky wetness in his boxers and a pounding migraine in his head. The fever rages on, the heat making the dark room swim and wobble. He almost screams when Derek steps out of the shadows.

The wolf freezes at the elevated heart beat and the stench of terror at his approach. "Stiles? What's wrong with you?"

"I'm fine, get out." He whispers, trembling as a bead of sweat rolls down the side of his face.

Derek frowns, eyes dilating slightly as he smells Stiles' release already drying on his underwear. "You don't look fine. Is that-" He doesn't finish his sentence, expression shifting to the careful blank mask he usually wore. The wolf turns in the blink of an eye, climbs out the window and is gone into the dark.

Stiles closes his eyes and takes a shuddering breath as he tells himself repeatedly it was just a dream, soon returning to a fitful sleep.

The window closes and locks itself quietly with a click.

**************************************************

"There's something weird going on with Stiles."

Scott scowls in annoyance. "Of course there is, he's sick as hell!"

Derek scowls right back at him as he paces the length of the burned-out living room. "No, besides that. Didn't you smell him yesterday?"

"Uh yeah, he's my best friend. I smell him all the time."

The Alpha's eyebrows disappear into his hair as he chooses not to comment on the awkward phrasing. "And ...?"

"And what?" Scott blinks. "He smelled ...sick. That's about it."

Derek gives an exasperated sigh. "No, you idiot. Underneath that, didn't you smell the ...rot? Decay?"

Scott's phone rings then and Lydia's voice greets him when he answers. "Yeah, one sec, I'll put you on speaker."

"Hello boys," Lydia chirps though her tone is all business. "Morrell was useless when I showed her what Stiles wrote so I've been researching on my own."

"And?" Derek crosses his arms and glowers at the cellphone as if Lydia can see him.

"And we may have a problem. The closest thing I can find to it at a glance is ancient Sumerian but even that's just unhelpful similarities. I can try to do a rough translation but it might just end up being gibberish."

Derek and Scott stare at each other for a moment before the Alpha answers for both of them. "Do it."

**************************************************

Stiles is at school on Friday, back to his normal hyperactive self. He laughs at Scott's dumb jokes and fawns over Lydia. The pack is relieved and they manage to relax a little after two days of worrying for nothing.

He manages to avoid any detention and makes it to the pack meeting at Derek's new loft, where he enters with Scott. His infectious laugh echoes through the room as he gives his friend a punch on the arm in return for a particularly bad joke. Scott laughs along and pretends his wince is at a pretend pain though his arm throbs at the contact.

Derek is telling them how with Isaac's help, they managed to scare off the last members of the rogue pack the night before. He's busy scowling at Scott's suggestion he let the Argents know so they can mount an extra patrol at the borders of the town, just in case, when he notices something out of the corner of his eye.

For a split second, he feels eyes on him- looking through him and when his vision flickers quickly from face to face, he swears it's Stiles. He blames the dimly lit living space for the illusion of eyes darkened to black, absent of any light within. He knows Stiles' eyes are a rich chocolate brown, can bring them to mind easily and when he blinks there they are, glittering with amusement.

None of the others seem to notice so he continues to speak, though a sense of unease stilts his speech and quiets him more than usual. He knows Isaac is watching him, concerned, but he shrugs off the younger wolf.

"Sorry for taking all the fun out of this party, gang." Stiles announces as he bounces to his feet. "This is where I take my leave." He bows dramatically and cracks a lopsided grin.

"What? It's the weekend, man. You don't have any other plans besides with us." Scott whines.

"I'm actually really popular, I'll have you know." Stiles laughs easily as he heads to the door, ending any further protests. "I'll catch you guys later. Try not to get into any trouble without me there to save your werewolf asses."

As he passes the Alpha, Stiles gives him a wink only Derek catches. Stiles continues to grin as he leaves but Derek decides immediately something about his expression is ...wrong. His instincts tell him something is definitely off and quickly brings the meeting to a close soon after.

**************************************************

Derek waits until he knows the rest of the pack is at home before he leaves in search of Stiles. The trail predictably leads back to the Stilinski residence where the Sheriff dozes away on the couch inside. The scent of Stiles is strong but the most recent path leads away from the house and into the woods behind.

The branches above him are bare bones, Autumn stripping them of any color. Even without the leaves to shield the sky, there is no light whatsoever. The sky is almost black and absent of the moon or any stars at all. Without his improved eyesight, he knows he'd be lost and stumbling in a matter of moments once deep enough in the forest.

As he follows the scent through the crackling leaves and gnarled roots, the smell of Stiles suddenly vanishes.

Moments later he realizes that's not exactly accurate. The trail has changed to something more cloying, something familiar to him though it takes him a minute to recognize it. The scent is arousal, thick and musky. He knows it's Stiles- can remember earlier in the week when he fled the boy's room in the dead of night, his cock painfully hard as soon as the sweat soaked boy had looked up at him through half-lidded eyes, stained and reeking of his own seed.

The smell permeates the air, surrounding him a cloud. Stiles' scent is everywhere- on every tree, in the air he breathed in, in the very ground under his feet. He sniffs the air hungrily, his hardened member giving a throb every few seconds as he fights to keep control of his other senses. _Ssssttiiillllleeeeeeesss._

The wolf shakes his head, trying to remember why he's out there to begin with. Something about ...Stiles. Find Stiles. _Stiles' skin._ Find Stiles. _Fuck Stiles. Make him scream. Make him scream your name. Sink your claws in. Feel his flesh tear just for you. Paint him white and red, white and red, red, red, RED, RED, REDREDREDREDREDREDREDREDREDREDRED_

**************************************************

Stiles is waiting for him, just as he was promised. The boy is in the middle of a clearing, sitting casually on a large stone covered in symbols drawn in red. He doesn't recognize them but he does recognize the medium they've been painstakingly drawn in. The thought passes, dissolves into nothing like steam in the cool air.

"Stiles," he croaks out, mind clouded in a suffocating lust. He takes a step closer, his claws popping out of their own accord and for a moment he's worried it'll alarm the boy.

Stiles only smiles, hands clasped in his lap as he appraises the wolf. "Derek," The name passes his lips in a purr so unlike Stiles it would've shocked Derek had the wolf not been intoxicated by the sound- his own name being used as a promise of pleasure. "I knew you'd follow me here. Come."

He needs no further invitation, closing the distance between them in an instant. With a snarl he lunges forward, capturing the boy's lips in a searing kiss. Stiles responds with a near equal ferocity, biting Derek's lip until he drew blood that was eagerly lapped away.

The rough surface of the stone must be digging into Stiles' back but Derek can't bring himself to care as the boy snakes a hand down the front of his jeans, wrapping his long fingers around molten heat. He groans at the touch and Stiles lets out a soft, appreciative laugh.

Suddenly his clothes are gone, discarded to the side and he's lining himself up to meet Stiles' pink, greedy entrance. The only thing he could think about was the skin meeting skin, the slick sweat and fluid between their writhing bodies. Stiles only gasps softly as he slams himself inside to the hilt in one punishing thrust. He growls at the feeling of the heat around him, squeezing him tightly.

"Fuck me, wolf." Stiles breathes out, a crooked grin on his lips, slightly parted mouth that panted. His eyes are black tunnels without end- in them Derek sees both an absolute void and an eternity that stretches to heaven, hell, and back. One look in those eyes needlessly compels him to obey, his hips snapping back and forth as he holds Stiles close in an iron grip.

"D-derek?"

Derek looks up with a moan, the sweat rolling in rivulets down his spine at the exertion. He freezes at the brown eyes filling with tears. He's only half inside Stiles and can see the blood on his cock that's helping to create the hot slickness he's been fucking viciously for however long it's been.

"Derek, it- it hurts." Stiles starts to sob, his entire body trembling at the intrusion. His hips bleed from the deepening claw marks Derek sees he's leaving as he holds the boy down. He knows the skin on Stiles' back must be raw and painful by now. "Oh-oh god, what are you doing?"

"Stiles," Derek chokes out. "Stiles." He can only repeat his name as the fog he's in lifts momentarily, enough to fill him with lucidity and horror. He starts to pull out but a hand with too much strength grabs his hip and drags him back in until he's buried in Stiles again. Derek lets out an aching groan he can't stop but Stiles is grinning, eyes black and now completely white-less.

"I'm just fucking with you." He laughs, a terrible mockery of Stiles' own laughter as the lust drops over Derek once more like a heavy black veil. "Don't stop, wolf. I want to feel you spill yourself deep inside this wretch. Yessssss, that's it."

Derek resumes without further thought, panting loudly at the frantic pace. Time simply melts away. He feels like they've been in the clearing, watched over by the forest for hours, days, years. Stiles moans wantonly beneath him and he snarls, pumping himself in and out as hard as he can. He can feel himself coming to the edge and Stiles seems to realize it too as he manages to push himself back on Derek's every thrust.

"Give it to me, give it to me," Stiles breathes, the sounds of slapping flesh echoing obscenely in the night. "Give me it all."

The wolf howls loudly as he comes, his cock impossibly hard and shooting pulse after pulse into Stiles' abused channel. The powerful orgasm sends a white heat across his vision- the forest, the stone, and Stiles returning to his sight dots at a time like strange inverted fireworks.

Stiles grins up at him, tracing his jaw with steady fingers. "Good boy."

Beneath them, the runic language inscribed on the stone begins to glow, bathing them both in an eerie red light.

**************************************************

"Werewolves," Lydia mutters irritably, pacing back and forth as Allison looks on, bemused and concerned. "What's the point of getting a phone if you're not going to answer when people call?" She sighs as the ringing cuts out to Derek's voicemail again.

Behind her on the computer screen is a scanned page of the bestiary Allison's been helping her translate for the last three hours.

"Derek, I don't know where you are but this is important so pick. Up. Your. Phone." She pauses to let her attempt at intimidation sink in but gives a relenting sigh when no one answers. "Look, I think we've figured out what we're dealing with here." She eyes the translation as she speaks. "Although there's not really a word in the English language to describe it."

Allison scrolls down to reveal a picture of a terrible creature and grimaces.

"Turns out I was right with my hunch about the Sumerian. It's actually pretty close if you- never mind, anyway, this thing is old. Really old. Ancient Mesopotamians called it a 'Gallu', and it's sort of like a ...spirit ...demon ...thingy. The bestiary, or at least what we've translated so far, isn't very helpful in the How Do We Kill It? Department but it does warn against this Gallu thing's attempts at some sort of ritual?"

Lydia highlights a portion, neither girl noticing the soft red glow beginning to break past the tree line in the distance through the curtains. "Okay, listen to this: 'once possession of a host has been attained, the creature will attempt to open an entrance'- or 'portal', the exact wording is sort of vague. Anyway, we'll keep on with this. Call me back when you get this, asshole."

She hangs up, pleased with herself as she turns to Allison. "Let's keep going, shall we?"

**Author's Note:**

> To anyone waiting for a BORN VILLAIN chapter, I'm so sorry! It's coming, I swear. This idea got into my brain and wouldn't let go.
> 
> Trying my hand at demon!Stiles, let me know how I did! :)


End file.
